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June 19, 2012

Up In The Air

The other parents called their kids while we were away. We did not. It seems to break the momentum, when they aren't already missing us and then hear our voice and now they remember to miss us. And maybe even more for me. Their voices sound so very tiny and far away. "Maybe we should call them before we board, you know, just in case." But we didn't.

We struck up conversations when it could have been easier, nicer, to just put in the earphones. But this is how I learned something new about myself: I'd rather like to have two houses like that couple- one in San Diego and one in Chicago. I turned to the window and watched the clouds spread like frosting, smooth across the sky. Maybe someday if the kids do move away (a worry of mine), we can just get a house in each city and we will dress like that fashionable older couple when we travel.

Things didn't seem so big and impossible after all.

The man on the beach we asked for directions- he was helpful and mentioned that this was where he met his wife. "Heck yeah." If I could hear a story like that from every person I meet now until the end of my time, I will be happy.

And sometimes you make note of what you don't want to be, when you talk to people. But if you don't open up, if you only always go about as usual, you might miss good things about strangers, and you might miss better things about yourself.

We are back home and all together and the children are tan and smell like other people's houses. I missed them and will rub my scent on them all day until they smell like mine again.